


Ráð

by eLJay



Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eLJay/pseuds/eLJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merida needs practice reading runes, so Hiccup gives her some help and motivation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ráð

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own any of them.
> 
> Inspired by a post on Erik Kwakkel's blog about rune codes. The title, per an article by K. Jonas Nordby on the same subject, means read/interpret, or, more colloquially, figure this out. They don’t use runes in HTTYD the same way they were used in real life, but whatever. Also, just pretend that they speak the same language, but have different writing systems.

When Merida rubbed her eyes a forest of ghostly runes floated across her vision, and she knew that when she opened her eyes again the ones on the parchment in front of her would make little more sense.  After spending all day with Stoick again, observing as he went about his duties on the island, her mind had already felt sluggish by dinnertime, but heartless Hiccup didn’t care about any of that; after they’d eaten he’d dragged her back to his house for another lesson, and not the kind she’d prefer to have from him.

She acknowledged the logic behind being able to read runes: she was in Berk to strengthen ties between the Scots and the Hooligans, to learn different approaches toward diplomacy and leadership from Stoick and to study Berk’s history; most of what she learned was oral tradition, but some things needed to be read, and she couldn’t depend on others to translate for her.  At moments like this, though, all of her old animosity toward lessons returned with a vengeance.  “I’m done,” she said, pushing the book away from her.  “I can’t take any more.”

Hiccup’s eyes went wide.  “But you were so close to the end of this section.  Don’t you want to try?”  He smiled encouragingly, and she regretted ever telling him how much she liked his smiles; she should have known he’d try to use that kind of information against her.  He was doing it now, head cocked, eyes kind, and, worst of all, lips quirked just a bit higher on one side.  Well, it wouldn’t work.  She wouldn’t fall for his wiles, not this time.

“No.  I don’t.”  She left the table and flung herself full length on the couch, arching her back and stretching her arms above her head, hoping he’d get the idea and join her.  When she’d agreed to come, she certainly hadn’t expected that she’d fancy the chief’s son, and she’d been so flustered by the infatuation that her chaperones had thought her ill the first few days they’d been in Berk.  Then after dinner a few nights ago he’d escorted her from the mead hall to the guesthouse they were staying in, and when she’d paused at the door to thank him he’d leaned down to brush a feather-soft kiss across her lips.  In the moment it had taken for her to recover her wits he’d made it halfway back to the path and she’d had to hurry after him to return the embrace.  He’d walked her home nearly every night since then and they talked and laughed quietly, hands brushing in the twilight, lingering together for as long as possible.

“You were doing really well, though.”  Eyes still closed, she registered her disbelief by snorting in a completely unladylike manner.  “Okay, you were doing better yesterday.  But you’ve learned a lot.”  His voice grew closer, and she felt the back of the couch shift; when she opened her eyes he was leaning over the back, watching her, and her stomach fluttered.

“I’d learn more if I could read from something different.”

Again Hiccup’s eyes widened, this time in indignation and hurt.  “What’s wrong with the Book of Dragons?” he asked, a hint of petulance in his tone.

“Nothing,” she assured him.  “And I’ve learned a lot from it, as you said.  But wouldn’t it be helpful if I could read from some things a bit more…diverse?  One day I might need to read something with absolutely no dragon-related vocabulary, and I’d like to be prepared.”

He was silent for a minute, staring straight ahead, turning over the idea in his head.  “That makes sense,” he admitted.  “I’ll look around for something new for tomorrow night, okay?”

“Thank you.”  She smiled at him, sitting up far enough to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.  Then she glanced from the door back to him and licked her lips.  “How long until your dad gets home, do you think?”

“Not long enough.”

“Then hadn’t you better stop wasting time?”  Now she was more than willing to fall for his devilish smile, and he climbed over the back of the couch and into her arms, kissing her so thoroughly she felt like she’d forgot every alphabet she’d ever learned.

* * *

True to his word, their next lesson brought something new.  New, but not necessarily better: he’d managed to find a rare land deed that had been important enough to write down.  The account of the transfer of lands from Einar the Unctuous to Hackfist Lutefisk was not terribly interesting but she couldn’t complain, not after he’d only done what she asked.  The next night he had a recipe for an extra-strength sheep dip, and the night after that a charm to magick away warts.  On the following night he produced a thick, dusty book, and she eyed the tome with unconcealed distaste.  Nothing good ever came of books like that, she knew from long afternoons with her mum.  He swept a hand over the cover, revealing a cracked leather cover; when she’d finished sneezing he announced, “The genealogy of the chiefs of the archipelago tribes.  This should keep you busy for a while.”

“I thought you liked me,” she grumbled.

“I do.  I like you so much that when you asked for something to read other than the Book of Dragons, I crawled through Gothi’s attic to find you alternatives.”  His expression was one of self-sacrifice, and she only rolled her eyes a little. “Thank you ever so much.”

“Anything for you,” he said sweetly, opening the book and directing her to the first line.  Merida sighed, leaned forward, and read slowly, “The line of the chiefs of the Meathead tribe…”

* * *

Two nights later they’d finally made it to Mogadon, the current Meathead chieftain. It was a little easier studying with Hiccup than with her mum, though not much; once he got going, he was almost as difficult to derail as the queen was, but his enthusiasm was rather infectious.  When she’d finished with the Meatheads he walked her back to the guesthouse where they spent a few minutes tangled together in the shadows, his mouth and hands hot against her skin, and then a few more saying goodnight.  By the time she made her way inside, her knees felt weak beneath her.

In the morning she dressed and thumped down the stairs, hoping she had enough time to sit down to breakfast before meeting Stoick.  A bowl of porridge was waiting on the table, as usual, but the rune-covered scrap of parchment next to it was not usual.  She decided the parchment could wait until she’d eaten, though curiosity had her finishing her breakfast quickly.

The message was short, thankfully, and it was easy enough to work out that it began _You are_.  The last part was nothing she’d come across yet—so at least, she thought drily, it wasn’t comparing her to a dragon.  But what was she?  She stared at the scrap, trying to make sense of the runes, until all she knew was that she was about to be late.  She tucked the message into the pouch at her belt and hurried down the hill to the mead hall.

Stoick greeted her cordially as he finished his own breakfast.  Before he could get bogged down in his daily business, she pulled out the scrap and presented it to him.  “I can’t work out this last word,” she admitted, pointing at it.

To her surprise, the chief flushed beneath his facial hair and looked away quickly, muttering something under his breath.  Merida frowned, leaning forward.  “Sorry?”

He cleared his throat.  “Beautiful,” he said more loudly.  “It says you’re beautiful.”

It was her turn to go scarlet.  He pushed the note back to her and she tucked it away again, not meeting his eyes.  For the rest of the day she stayed silent, following the chief demurely; eventually the mortification faded away, replaced by an amazed sort of joy filling her as she thought, _He thinks I’m beautiful_.

* * *

The next note came two days later.  This time she knew better than to ask anyone for help, and instead took her time to puzzle out the message _You make me smile_.  They came every few days, often waiting for her with her breakfast—she assumed he slipped in to deliver them before his morning flight with Toothless—but sometimes she found them other places: marking her place in the genealogy book, tucked into her boots, under her mug in the mead hall.  She preferred getting them in private, where she didn’t have to control her reactions and was free to blush and squeal and sigh to her heart’s content.  Some of the notes were compliments, some were invitations to go flying, and a rare, brave few were commands.

One such she found in her quiver, tied around an arrow. She felt herself smiling even as she unwrapped the strip of parchment.  The message was a brief one, and it didn’t take long for her to figure out that it said, simply, _Kiss me_.  It felt like a bolt of lightning had gone through her; she half expected her hair to be standing on end as her skin buzzed and the pit of her stomach fizzed.  Without stopping to think she made her way to the forge.

Gobber was out, for which she was grateful.  She hadn’t time to spare for his jokes.  “Hiccup,” she called quietly, and he turned, leather apron over his clothes and a quizzical expression on his face; she didn’t even wait for him to set down the hammer he held before she crossed the room in four long strides and kissed him, hard, twining one hand in his sweat-damp hair and moaning into his mouth as his arms came around her to pull her close.  When he drew back to breathe she gently broke free from his hold, set the note deliberately on top of an anvil, and left with head held high, though she tingled hotly everywhere he’d touched her.

After that, Merida decided it was time to turn the tables.  As soon as she’d come up with the idea, though, she was at a loss about what to say.  A mere compliment wouldn’t be enough; she needed the perfect words.  It took a few days, but it came to her one midday as she made her way to the market and a shadow passed overhead.  She looked up to see Toothless speed past, Hiccup’s laughter floating down, and her heart leaped, knowing he was nearby and happy.

The words were easy enough to write, and though she felt certain that she’d got the runes right she kept the message for a few days, checking and rechecking it, until she thought she’d go mad.  She waited until she knew that no one was in his house, after he’d left for his flight and Stoick had gone about his business, and slipped into his room, hiding the message in the pages of the notebook left by his bed.  Then she hurried off to meet Stoick, trying to maintain a calm demeanor despite the churning inside.

Excitement turned to anxiety as the day wore on and there was no sign of him.  She tried to tell herself that he was busy and probably just hadn’t made it back to his room yet, but the more time passed, the worse things she imagined: he and Toothless were lost somewhere and would never be seen again, or he’d been kidnapped by pirates, or he’d found it and was horrified and trying to avoid her.  By dinner she felt utterly despondent, sure that she’d made a terrible mistake; she stabbed listlessly at her meal while all around her Vikings laughed and drank, boisterous as ever, in marked comparison to her own low spirits.

Then the door to the mead hall opened and a familiar figure appeared. He paused at the threshold, swinging his head back and forth as he scanned the hall; when he found what he was searching for he strode forward.  As he neared, Merida saw a piece of parchment clenched in his fist, and her heart started to pound wildly.  She was aware that she was rising from her seat and the conversation around her was quieting, and Hiccup’s eyes were trained on her.  She opened her mouth, ready to try to explain it away, but she didn’t have a chance before his lips were on hers, urgent and needy, one hand in her hair and the other around her waist.  While the diners around her whooped and cheered she lifted her arms to encircle his neck and pushed up onto her toes to kiss him more deeply.  The anxiety and fear melted away in his embrace, and she felt a giggle bubble up in her throat as she thought that she would have learned more had all her lessons been this rewarding.

Hiccup pulled back, breath unsteady, to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. “I love you, too,” he murmured for only her to hear, and kissed her again.


End file.
